


Something Real

by MxTicketyBoo



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Sign Language, Cigarettes, Cute, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Gift Giving, M/M, Minor Reference to Drug Use, Muteness, No Smut, Professional Associates, Smoking, Sugar Baby Charon, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: Charon stares down at Hermes in cool amusement. He types a message, which pings on Hermes’s phone a moment later.Charon:What gives you the impression I want or need your money?“I don’t think youneedit,” Hermes responds. “However, you seem like a man of expensive tastes. Mine run the same. And we both know not needing money isn’t the same as not wanting more. Isn’t that right, my good associate?”Charon tips his head in acknowledgment, and Hermes steps a bit closer.“Do you have someone spoiling you already?” Hermes asks. “If not, would you like to?”----OR: Trust fund baby Hermes makes wealthy businessman Charon an offer he thinks can't be refused, but Charon isn't so easily impressed.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 211
Collections: Hades Game Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	Something Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mozzarella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/gifts).



> For the Hades Game Holiday Gift Exchange 2020. Prompt: a Charmes modern sugar daddy AU but flipped on its head, with trust fund brat Hermes as the sugar daddy propositioning wealthy businessman Charon to be his sugar baby/service top. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, Muchy! Happy holidays! <3 
> 
> \----
> 
> Note: From what I’ve read, there doesn’t seem to be a consensus on how to best format a visual language in written work. One article I found mentioned examples of books that used both italics and quotation marks to indicate sign language, and that is what I’ve chosen to do in this fic.
> 
> Style Guide  
>  **Bold** – Text messages  
> “Sample” – Spoken dialogue  
>  _“Sample”_ – ASL

Hermes was never meant for boardrooms. 

For one, he hates sitting still. He’s always moving: shifting his weight from one elbow to the other, rapping his nails on the arm of his chair, restlessly bouncing his leg under the glossy walnut table—up, down, up, down—until his half-sister, Athena, finally hits her limit and subtly reaches over to clap a hand on his jittering thigh. She squeezes hard, giving him a warning glance that would shrivel a weaker man. All Hermes does is send her a crooked smile and an apologetic shrug.

What does his family expect? How’s he supposed to focus when he’s only here at his father’s behest? 

“It’s time you started taking a role in the family business, my boy,” his father had said, his jovial tone belied by the cold glitter in his eyes, “unless you’d like to see that generous monthly stipend come to an end. You’ll recall, without my permission distributions from your trust would be completely inaccessible to you for another three years. It is by my good graces alone you’re allowed access to it now. I assume you’d prefer for that arrangement to continue?”

Of course, Hermes very much _does_ wish for it to continue. He’s accustomed to living in a certain style, and he'd hate to lose it. So, here he is, bored to tears in a business meeting he cares absolutely nothing about. He hasn’t absorbed a single word that’s been uttered since the meeting was called to order nearly an hour ago, which leads to point two:

Hermes is highly distractible.

His relatives like to joke he has the attention span of a hummingbird, zipping from one bright, tempting flower to the next. Perhaps that’s true. There’s always somewhere new to go, something new to see. Hermes goes with the flow because there’s no reason not to. It’s irrepressible, this urge he has, to move and move and _move_.

He needs to find an occupation to match that drive, but as of yet, he’s had little success in that regard.

Insurance is the family business, and Hermes couldn’t be less invested if he tried. The trouble is, nothing else appeals either. And therein lies the rub. Hermes isn’t really sure what to do with himself or his time.

What he does know is _who_ he wants to do and when.

The when being as soon as this meeting is over.

The who being the enigmatic man across the table.

Charon, Hermes’s uncle Poseidon had called him, one of the representatives sent to negotiate on behalf of Tartarus Incorporated.

He’s not like anyone else in the room. Not like anyone else Hermes has met recently either.

Much like Hermes, he hasn’t spoken throughout the meeting. However, it’s clear he _has_ been paying attention. Every once in a while, he communicates with the man sitting beside him, his elegant, ring-bedecked hands moving in graceful motions. Then the man—Thanatos, Hermes recalls Athena addressing him earlier—interprets for the rest of the attendees.

From their olive complexions and similar mannerisms, Hermes wonders if Charon and Thanatos might be related, but if they are, that’s where the resemblance stops. Charon is exceptionally tall. Even seated, as he had been since Hermes dashed into the conference room at the last possible second, Hermes can tell that much. What’s visible of Charon’s hair beneath his wide-brimmed hat is wavy and long, falling over one shoulder down to nearly the middle of his chest. The color of his eyes is indistinguishable, hidden behind a pair of round, purple-tinted glasses, but Hermes has a gut feeling they’re different from Thanatos’s uncanny feline yellow.

He wants to find out. Wants that gaze on him. Charon hasn’t so much as looked in his direction, as far as Hermes can tell, or at least not for longer than the most cursory of glances. That’s a rarity in and of itself. Hermes knows how he looks, and he dresses to accentuate. He doesn’t spend half his waking hours doing lunges, biking trails, and running marathons not to be well-aware he has a thick ass and the type of muscular thighs men like to have their heads or cocks buried between.

Hermes isn’t used to being ignored—and the fact that Charon doesn’t even seem to register his presence has produced the improbable, contradictory effect of making his dick rock-hard. 

He hadn’t thought that was a kink of his, but, hey, aren’t his early twenties the perfect time to discover something new about himself?

Hermes keeps his gaze trained on Charon as the meeting wraps up. People are shaking hands and smiling on both sides, so he assumes the outcome is favorable for everyone involved. He’ll ask his father’s secretary for a copy of the minutes so he knows what to say if good old Pops comes calling for a debrief, but for now, he tracks Charon as he stands and collects his long coat from the discreet closet in the corner.

And gods, he is _tall._ Climbable. His clothing is solid black and exquisitely tailored to his frame. Hermes has an eye for both fashion and quality, and he’s dead certain nothing on Charon’s body came off the rack from any department store. Powerful arms and broad shoulders are lovingly encased in a high-necked cashmere sweater. Charon wears more jewelry than might strictly be considered tasteful, and all gold to boot, but it somehow works for him anyway. The necklaces, the chain-drop earrings glinting at his lobes, the stacks of rings, and the bracelets adorning each wrist, hung with charms that resemble old-fashioned coins.

The only other pop of color in the entire ensemble, aside from the gold and the glasses, comes from his shoes. Those are expensive, too. Hand-crafted, Hermes would wager, with a subtle aubergine finish, just vivid enough to catch the eye without being gaudy.

Oh, he’s fascinating, this one. Hermes is ready to slide in and introduce himself, and subtlety be damned, when Athena snags him by the elbow.

“Don’t even think of it,” she says, low but firm. “You’re going to accompany me to my office, and we’re going to review the highlights of that meeting, dear brother. We both know Father will be inquiring, given the fact that he asked you to be here in his place.”

“Come now, Sis,” Hermes protests, but he knows there’s no escape, and, resigned, allows himself to be steered from the conference room. “We also both know Father didn’t actually expect me to take charge during that meeting. The purchase was pretty much settled already. This was just ironing out the details. I was only there for appearance’s sake.”

Athena keeps walking. “All the same.”

“Right, right, lead the way.”

Hermes permits himself one last peek over his shoulder, only to find himself the object of a gaze shielded by purple lenses. Hermes shoots Charon a dimpled smile and a teasing wink and gets the instant gratification of seeing a flush rise to those thin cheeks.

Well, well, well. Someone _had_ noticed him, then, and apparently paused to enjoy the view of him walking away.

Hermes faces forward and bites back a laugh. “You know, Sis,” he says, as Athena drags him into her office and swings the door shut behind them, “maybe this particular merger isn’t going to be as boring as I thought. Tell me everything you know about Charon.”

***

Everything Athena knew turned out not to be much at all, beyond that Charon is the current CFO of Tartarus Inc. and a handful of other key details necessary only for ensuring accessibility during meetings and any other communications between their companies. Hermes takes the lack of information in stride. 

Some light internet snooping uncovers that Charon has a virtually nonexistent social media presence, save for a defunct Twitter account that had never been used to make a single tweet. No thirst trap stalking for Hermes, then. Although, Charon doesn’t exactly seem the type anyway. Hermes can’t imagine that elegant creature who covers himself in finely tailored clothing from neck to toe posting shirtless selfies or dick-print shots for likes on Insta—unlike Hermes himself, who lives for modeling his vast collection of expensive, form-fitting athleisure wear.

Well, no matter. He’ll just get to know Charon the old fashioned way. 

Olympia Corporation is now the parent company of Tartarus, Inc., their very first life insurance subsidiary. The plan is to celebrate the new joint business venture at the annual holiday gala next week, or so Athena informed Hermes. As one of Tartarus’s executive officers, Charon is almost guaranteed to be in attendance. That’s when Hermes will make his move.

He spends the days leading up to the gala doing more research, but this time, he’s looking up American Sign Language tutorials and trying to get a handle on the absolute basics. From Athena and the meeting he attended, Hermes knows Charon isn't deaf or hard of hearing—and, at the end of the day, they can simply text each other, if necessary—but he wants to be able to understand Charon without relying too heavily on his phone, to communicate in whatever way Charon needs or most prefers.

Hermes memorizes the alphabet, learns how to introduce himself, how to sign a few fundamental phrases. He doesn’t have time to familiarize himself with much more, but he’s always been a quick learner and feels confident in his ability to utilize what he's already learned. If things go well, he’ll continue to study. Likely, he’ll continue regardless. Hermes enjoys learning new things, going new places, meeting new people. This is useful knowledge for a man who loves to talk, as Hermes does. It opens up a world of possibilities for more conversations.

The night of the gala, he dresses his best. Hermes isn’t really one for black-tie affairs, but he grew up surrounded by wealth and knows how to play the part.

He spends the first half hour cruising the ballroom, subtly keeping an eye out for his quarry while making small talk with people he knows and tossing back way too many thin flutes of champagne.

By the time he spots Charon standing in a group near the pristinely decorated showpiece pine in the center of the marble dance floor, it’s fair to say Hermes is rapidly approaching being three sheets to the wind. He eyeballs the people Charon is standing with as he deliberates over whether or not it’s the best time to approach. There’s Thanatos, the lawyer and interpreter from the meeting, and beside him, a shorter, spiky-haired man sporting a broad, infectious grin. On Charon’s other side stands a lanky, sleepy-eyed guy, whose elfin features are framed by a halo of fluffy white curls.

They’re an attractive bunch, and Hermes watches them for a time, wondering about their relationship to one another. He notes the way Charon occasionally signs something, catches a word he recognizes here and there, and decides to wait for when he can catch Charon on his own.

His opportunity comes a short while later. He sees Charon break free from his companions, where they’ve migrated to a corner near the bar, and slip out onto the veranda through a nearby set of French doors.

Hermes follows a couple minutes later and finds Charon leaned against the balustrade, a curl of smoke drifting into the cold night air from the cigarette held casually between his long, beringed fingers. The scent of cloves and tobacco permeate the space around him as Hermes gets closer, and the cherry flares bright red in the dimness as Charon lifts the cigarette to his lips and slowly inhales another drag.

“Hey, boss,” Hermes greets him, and he’s proud the words aren’t slurring… much.

Charon turns his head and quirks a brow. He’s not wearing a hat today, his fair, wavy hair falling loose about his shoulders. The purple-lensed glasses are in place, though, and between those and the sparse lighting from the ballroom windows, he has no chance of discerning his eye color or where exactly Charon is looking.

Hermes plants an elbow on the railing. “Mind if I call you boss? You’re not, of course, as I’m not _technically_ an employee of Olympia Corporation and you work for Tartarus anyway, but seeing as our respective companies are in business together now, we _are_ professional associates at the very least. It’s not a bad nickname, is it, as far as nicknames go?”

Charon only stares at him.

Hermes wants to slap himself. “Right. Hang on, let me try this again.” He straightens up. _“Hello,”_ he signs, _“My name is Hermes.”_

Both of Charon’s eyebrows are up near his hairline now, but after a moment, he responds, his hands shaping words Hermes in his foggy-brained tipsiness tries and fails to follow.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t understand. I’ve done a few tutorials since the meeting, but I’m not fluent just yet.” _Give me time_ , he wants to add, but he’s already gotten ahead of himself once this conversation.

Charon’s lips curl into a wry smile. He reaches into his long jacket—another that beautifully hugs his broad shoulders—and withdraws a slim phone. He gestures for Hermes to do the same, and Hermes pulls out his own, unlocking it before placing it into Charon’s waiting palm.

After a minute or two, Charon hands it back, and then he spends a few seconds typing on his own screen. Hermes’s phone chimes with a text alert.

**Charon** : **What do you want?**

Straight to the point then. Hermes appreciates that in a man.

“Oh, Charon,” he all but purrs, the alcohol making him bolder when he can’t be called timid to begin with, “I want so many things. Namely, I’d love to spend some of my father’s money to spoil you a bit. Take you out on the town, buy you some more of those shiny rings you seem to like.”

Charon takes another drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, all while staring down at Hermes in cool amusement. He types another message, which pings on Hermes’s phone a moment later.

**Charon: What gives you the impression I want or need your money?**

“I don’t think you _need_ it,” Hermes responds. “However, you seem like a man of expensive tastes. Mine run the same. And we both know not needing money isn’t the same as not wanting more. Isn’t that right, my good associate?”

Charon tips his head in acknowledgment, and Hermes steps a bit closer.

“Do you have someone spoiling you already?” Hermes asks. “If not, would you like to?”

Charon smiles slightly and props his cigarette between his lips as he types a new response. 

**Charon:** **You want me to be your sugar baby? Keep like some mistress in a penthouse downtown? Give me jewels?**

“I’ll give you whatever you like, boss,” Hermes says after he’s read the message. He looks Charon over, letting his gaze linger on those powerful arms and shoulders, the trimness of his waist and narrowness of his hips beneath the elegant cut of his black suit. He’s tall and lean, and once again, Hermes wants to climb him. “Including me. _Especially_ me.”

Charon scrutinizes him for a long moment. Hermes can’t see his eyes, but he can feel them as Charon appraises him in return. He takes one last drag from his cigarette, and then stubs it out on the balustrade before flicking the butt over the edge.

He types one last message and starts walking away before Hermes’s phone even chimes.

**Charon: Impress me and I’ll consider it.**

Hermes grins to himself. Well… it’s not a no. He can work with that.

***

Hermes sends his first gift the next business day. It’s a braided chain, heavy but not gaudy, and from it hang charms that bring to mind ancient obols, much like the bracelet he saw Charon wearing during the meeting. He has it delivered to Charon’s office in the early morning, and then he spends the next couple of hours working out and cleaning his apartment.

By mid-afternoon, he hasn’t gotten a response, and he can’t stand the suspense for another minute.

**Hermes:** **Did you receive my gift?**

**Charon:** **Yes.**

He waits for more, but nothing comes. After a few minutes, he types out another message.

**Hermes: Well, don’t express all your gratitude at once now.**

**Charon:** **The idea was for you to spoil me, yes? My gratitude wasn’t part of the equation.**

Hermes snorts a laugh and shoves his phone into his back pocket before gathering the veggies he set out on the granite countertop in his kitchen. He moves to the elevated enclosure that takes up a good chunk of his living room wall and deposits the green beans, shredded carrots, and sliced red bell pepper inside. “Hey, Chelly love,” he says, greeting the Eastern box turtle he’s had since his late teens. “We’ve got a feisty one, don’t we? I like him.” Chelly’s head pokes out from his shell, and he abandons his favorite basking spot under the UV lamp to shuffle toward his meal. “Had this brought in fresh just for you, buddy. Even chopped them myself. Enjoy.”

His only answer is a tiny crunching sound as Chelly chomps on a green bean.

“Beetles and crickets tomorrow, all right? Live ones so you can get some exercise.”

Hermes leaves Chelly to his lunch, grabs an energy drink from the fridge, and slumps down on the couch. He fishes his phone from his pocket again, the toe of his trainer pattering against the hardwood floor, _tap-tap-tap-tap_ , as he rereads Charon’s last message and mulls over a response. 

A run is probably in order to burn off some of this jittery restlessness. Then another shower, picking up and delivering a few packages for his sister Aphrodite's adult toy shop, which caters to the clients who require the utmost discretion and don’t trust regular couriers. After that, maybe an impromptu dinner date with a few friends. But first…

**Hermes: Gratitude isn’t a requirement, no. But did you like it?**

**Charon: Yes.**

**Hermes: Good. I do aim to please, boss.**

**Charon: Shouldn’t I be calling you that? Or would you prefer Daddy?**

Hermes barks out another laugh. **Please don’t call me that. Hermes is fine.**

He doesn’t add that he wouldn’t actually mind calling _Charon_ “Daddy.” One step at a time.

**Hermes: Tell me something you like. Something real.**

**Charon: Such as?**

**Hermes: Anything! Hobbies. How you take your coffee. The last movie you watched.**

**Charon: I don’t watch movies.**

Hermes stares at the screen, waiting for more. When nothing comes after a few minutes, he thuds his head back against the couch. How’s he supposed to spoil the man if Charon won’t even throw him a bone here? He makes one more attempt.

**Hermes: Come on, handsome, you can do better than that.**

He tosses the phone on the coffee table and goes to change into his running gear. A cursory glance through his messages when he returns shows nothing new from Charon, so with a shrug, Hermes pops in his ear buds and jogs down the steps of his building to burst out the side door into the bright, crisp afternoon.

It isn’t until hours later, when he’s wished Chelly good night and started getting ready for bed, that he gets another response.

**Charon: I enjoy vintage vehicles.**

A few seconds later, an image pops up, a classic Rolls-Royce. Black, of course, with silver trim and white-wall tires. Hermes gives an impressed whistle.

**Charon: What I drove to work this morning.**

**Hermes: That’s beautiful, boss. What year?**

**Charon: ’51**

**Hermes: You collect them? Tell me about the others?**

And to his surprise, Charon does.

***

The next month passes in much the same manner. Hermes sends gifts, does his deliveries for Aphrodite, occasionally attends meetings for his father, and a few nights a week, he takes ASL lessons.

Every day, just before bed, he sends Charon the same message: **Tell me something you like. Something real.**

And slowly, Charon opens up more and more.

He has a black cat with gold eyes named Styx.

He shares a house with his younger brother Hypnos, who Hermes discovers was the lanky, curly-haired guy from the gala.

He likes his coffee black, three cubes of sugar.

His favorite literary genre is gothic horror.

Charon never mentions why he doesn’t speak, and Hermes respects his privacy enough not to ask. If Charon wants to tell him, he will. But for now, it’s the only topic Hermes considers off limits.

A couple weeks later, there’s another meeting with the executive officers of Tartarus Inc. to discuss structural changes. Even though his father is already scheduled to be present, Hermes asks to attend.

His father takes it as a sign he’s finally committing to his familial responsibilities. The reality is Hermes just wants to see Charon in person again, maybe ask him if he’s impressed enough to consider taking Hermes up on his offer.

Under his father's watchful eye, Hermes forces himself to pay attention during the meeting. He tugs at the earrings dangling from his right lobe to keep his fingers occupied and watches whenever Charon signs, understands about half of it. He’s getting better, though more complicated sentences trip him up a bit here and there.

When it’s over and the attendees are mingling, the low buzz of conversation filling the conference room, Hermes approaches Charon at the coffee bar, where he’s pouring himself a fresh cup.

“Hi there, boss,” he says.

Charon stills, glancing at him sideways. This close, with the help of the overhead lights, he can see through the purple lenses of his glasses. Not well enough to tell Charon’s eye color yet, but just getting confirmation that gaze is actually on him is enough to have Hermes grinning.

_“Hello,”_ Charon signs. He’s dressed similarly to the first meeting, although this time his suit has delicate gold embroidery along the lapels. 

Hermes signs back, _“How are you?”_

_“Fine.”_

_“Meetings are boring.”_

Charon huffs a little, a tiny breath of sound, and gives Hermes an actual smile with the barest hint of teeth, not the threadbare smirk he saw before.

Hermes blinks up at him, caught off guard. If this was a cartoon, he’s fairly certain he’d have hearts streaming from his eyes. Charon’s face is lean-cheeked with prominent bones, thin lips and a sharp jaw—some might even call it severe—but the smile softens him in a way Hermes didn’t expect.

_“You’re beautiful,”_ Hermes signs, awestruck.

Charon’s smile disappears, and he shakes his head.

“You are,” Hermes insists. “Let me take you to lunch after this. Wherever you’d like to go.”

Charon shakes his head again, and Hermes’s heart drops. But in the next second, Charon signs _“tomorrow”_ and _“text message.”_

“Tomorrow,” Hermes repeats.

Charon nods, and turns toward the sound of his name when Thanatos beckons him over.

Later that night, Hermes texts Charon. They arrange a time to meet the following day at a little bistro Hermes loves. Before he goes to bed, he sends his usual message.

**Hermes: Tell me something you like. One thing. Something real.**

**Charon: Your smile. Good night.**

***

Hermes waits for Charon on the sidewalk outside of the bistro the next afternoon, huddled inside his puffy orange jacket with his hands stuffed into the pockets against the brisk winter chill. Le Bouchon is a tiny place boasting a charming ambiance, welcoming employees, and an extensive French wine list. It’s not particularly fancy, but it doesn’t need to be. The food and wine speak for themselves, and Hermes visits often enough to be on a first-name basis with most of the staff.

A few minutes before noon, Charon pulls into the parking lot in a vintage Mercedes-Benz, black again with a long, sleek body that reminds Hermes of Charon himself. He remembers Charon mentioning this one when he asked about his cars.

_“Hello,”_ he greets when Charon emerges from the vehicle. “Is that the ‘69?” he asks aloud, unsure how to sign the question just yet.

_“Yes.”_ Charon stops in front of him in a waft of clover and tobacco, and underneath, the faint hint of a woodsy cologne. It probably shouldn’t combine to smell as good as it does, but Hermes has to stop himself from opening his mouth to greedily draw more of the scent into his lungs. _“Hello. How are you?”_

Hermes grins and bounces on his heels. _“Happy.”_

Charon smiles faintly, and Hermes’s heart sprouts wings and flutters in his chest.

Resisting the impulse to do something silly and inappropriate, like try to hug Charon or bury his nose into his coat to immerse himself in that warm, spicy clover scent, Hermes turns to lead the way to the entrance of the restaurant. He pulls the door open and gestures for Charon to precede him inside.

Once they’re escorted to a table, he watches with interest as Charon unwraps his cashmere scarf and shrugs out of his long coat. He sets both on the empty seat beside his. Charon sits down and loses the hat, too. All that’s left is the glasses, and before he can stop himself, Hermes blurts, “Can I see your eyes?”

Charon stills with his fingers on the menu.

“If you don’t mind, of course,” Hermes hastens to add. “Sorry. It’s just, I’ve been wondering what color they are. I’d love to see, if you’re comfortable showing me.”

Charon shrugs and removes the glasses, carefully placing them on the tabletop. Somehow, his eyes are exactly as Hermes imagined. Deep-set, the palest gray he’s ever seen, almost uncanny. They suit Charon like the black turtleneck sweater, the rings adorning his fingers, the wavy fall of his fair hair. Everything about him is otherworldly and fascinating. He’s unique and all the lovelier for it, and Hermes may very well be smitten with this man.

_“Beautiful.”_

Charon shakes his head, just as he did yesterday, but Hermes reaches out to lightly touch his hand.

“To me, you are. Take the compliment, boss. You won’t change my mind.”

After a moment, Charon nods, and Hermes pulls back.

“The roast chicken is amazing, or the burger,” Hermes tells him as Charon flips open his menu. “Or if you don’t eat meat, the baby beet salad is great, too. And they make a vegan version of the French onion soup.”

After a few minutes, the server, Alessia, comes around, and they place their orders, Charon simply pointing to his selection on the menu. Soon they’re waiting for their meals with glasses of Hermes’s favorite cabernet sauvignon.

“Are you on your lunch break?” Hermes asks.

Charon sets his glass down to respond, but Hermes only recognizes the second sign, for “day.”

He tilts his head, curious, and tries to replicate the motion of the first. _“What is the meaning?”_

Charon spells out the word, and Hermes grins, repeating the sign.

“Oh, I must've learned a slightly different version. Like this? Early day?”

Charon nods. _“Good job.”_

That’s a sign he does recognize from his classes, and Hermes can’t help it. He preens a little. “I’m clumsy yet, but I’m learning more every day.”

Charon pulls out his phone and taps at the screen.

A second later, there’s a buzz from Hermes’s jacket pocket.

**Charon: It takes time. You’re doing well. Most people don’t bother trying.**

Hermes sets his phone down and winks at him from across the table. “Well, I’m not most people.”

They spend the rest of their lunch making casual conversation. Charon occasionally has to explain a sign, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s patient when Hermes fumbles, and Hermes glows under his approval whenever he gets something right.

They linger until dinner time, and then order again, splitting a bottle of merlot over their meals and indulging in a dessert of poached burgundy pears with vanilla custard sauce.

Hermes is feeling pleasantly buzzed by the time they finish. He spares a moment to be grateful the restaurant is within walking distance of his building as he scoops up the last bit of sugar, cinnamon, and custard from the bottom of the dish and playfully licks his spoon.

He meets Charon’s gaze to find his eyes grown dark and pops the spoon from his mouth perhaps a _tad_ more lewdly than he should given their current surroundings.

“Teach me to flirt,” he says, leaning closer. “Are there special signs?”

Charon just huffs that tiny, breathy laugh again, and then picks up his phone.

The message that pops up for Hermes reads: **You’re doing just fine already.**

***

That next morning Hermes lies in bed thinking of Charon and his graceful hands, those rings glinting on his long fingers. He’d been wearing the first necklace Hermes gifted him, and though Hermes didn’t point it out, every time his eyes caught on the chain, he felt a little thrill of pleasure in his stomach. A flare of possessive heat to see Charon wearing something _he_ provided.

Hermes wants Charon draped in jewels, and nothing else, while putting those elegant hands all over his body. And then, because he's always been the affectionate, touchy-feel type, he wants to snuggle afterward.

Smitten is right.

**Hermes: You look good in what I bought for you. I should have told you yesterday.**

**Charon: I wondered if you noticed.**

**Hermes: Oh, I notice everything about you, boss, don’t you worry about that.**

**Charon: See, you don’t need any help with flirting.**

Hermes laughs up at the ceiling. **So have I impressed you then?**

**Charon: Remains to be seen.**

Hermes thumps his head into his pillow and groans. **You’re killing me here. You know that?**

**Charon: Yes.**

Hermes considers, just for a moment, sending Charon a picture of his current state: disheveled, naked save for a tiny pair of shorts, half-hard from Charon’s teasing and casual dismissal.

But that might be a little too bold, and this time, he doesn’t have a belly full of champagne to blame.

A run it is, for now. Gotta rid himself of the vibrating energy gathering in his limbs. Then Chelly gets his feast of earthworms and snails, and in the afternoon, some deliveries for Aphrodite. And later… Later, it’s research time. 

What do you get the guy who’s wealthy enough to buy himself anything he wants already?

Hermes has the perfect gift in mind, and this one’s certain to impress.

***

A week later, on a Saturday, he emerges from the shower after his afternoon run to find a flurry of text messages waiting on his phone.

**Charon: Hermes**

**Charon: You shouldn’t have done this.**

**Charon: It’s too much.**

**Charon: I can’t accept.**

**Charon: I know how much this car is worth.**

Hermes brushes wet hair out of his eyes and blinks at the screen. Ah…so his latest gift had arrived, then. And, unfortunately for Hermes, this is the exact reaction he feared.

**Hermes: Please, boss, it’s a gift. You can’t give it back.**

**Charon: Jewelry is one thing. You do not give someone you aren’t even dating a vehicle this expensive!**

Hermes winces a little. Ouch. And Charon even used an exclamation point, which he’s never done before. He must truly be upset.

**Hermes: Well, friend, you wanted to be impressed, didn’t you? Go big or go home, as the kids say. If they still say that. Y’know, now I think of it, I’m not actually sure.**

**Charon: You’re not much more than a kid yourself. You have no sense of moderation.**

Oh, Hermes feels that one, in the form of his rib cage concaving. He rubs a hand across his chest to soothe the ache.

**Hermes: Wow**

**Charon: Sorry. That was uncalled for.**

**Hermes: It’s fine, boss. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it. I’ll send someone to collect it.**

The consignment company would doubtless be more than happy to take another commission for assisting with the sale. Hermes has no reason to keep the car himself. He’d never drive it, preferring his sport bikes when the weather is agreeable, and in winter, a quick little convertible that drives like crap in icy conditions but at least provides some protection from the elements. Hermes isn’t the vintage vehicle collector in this relationship. Or, well… non-relationship.

**Charon: It’s not that I don’t want it.**

Hermes rereads the message a few times. So, what’s the problem, then? Is Charon deliberately sending mixed signals or is there something he’s missing here?

**Hermes: I don’t understand.**

**Charon: Come over.**

An address pops up on his screen a minute later, and Hermes scrambles to get dressed. He knows an opportunity when he sees one, and though he’s unsure what will come from this visit, he’s not going to pass up the chance.

***

When he gets to the address, Hermes grins in spite of the nerves twisting his stomach. 

If he’d been asked to imagine the perfect house for Charon, this lovely, rambling Victorian would be it. The siding is painted purple and black, and gold accents decorate the elaborate scrollwork on the gables. A wrought iron fence protects the fair-sized front garden, and the steps leading up to the porch are slate gray. 

In the narrow driveway running along the side of the house sits a 1936 Auburn 852 Supercharged Phaeton, delivered just this afternoon at Hermes’s request.

The car is as impressive and dramatic as it looked online, with a black folding top, white-wall tires, and shiny chrome fittings. The color a rich buttery yellow labeled “Cigarette Cream,” which of course, felt very apropos when Hermes first read the description.

It’s beautiful, and Charon would be stunning behind the wheel. Hermes has to convince him to keep it, whatever else happens. He’s in a position most people would envy, set to inherit more money than he could ever spend in a dozen lifetimes. What’s it all for, if he can’t give absurdly extravagant gifts to his friends?

The front door swings open, and Charon waves to him from the porch. He’s dressed more casually than Hermes has ever seen him, in black slacks and a soft-looking turtleneck beneath a long, chunky cardigan. Gold hoops glint at his earlobes, stacks of rings adorn nearly every finger, and the long chain, Hermes’s first gift, encircles his throat. 

Charon looks as good this way as he does in an exquisitely tailored suit, but then, Hermes would probably find him attractive in a shapeless sack, too. He’s been intensely drawn to Charon since that very first meeting almost two months ago, and he doesn’t think that’s likely to change anytime soon.

Hermes approaches with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, orange and yellow trainers crunching on the salt scattered on the walkway. A few inches of snow came down last night, and someone had shoveled a crisp path to the porch. He wonders if it was Charon himself or someone paid to do the job. “Hey, boss.” 

_“Hello.”_

Charon gestures him inside, and Hermes pauses in the small foyer to toe off his shoes.

“Is your brother here?” he asks once Charon has led him to a well-appointed kitchen. “I’d like to meet him.”

The scent of tomatoes, onions, and basil spice the air, along with the smell of cloves, which Hermes tracks to a lit cigarette resting on the edge of an ashtray on the center island. The room is a bit cluttered, but it looks lived-in instead of messy. Potted plants line the windowsill above the kitchen sink, and a few more hang from the ceiling near the bay window in the breakfast nook. A worn, comfy-looking red hoodie hangs off the back of a chair. On the table, a magazine lies open next to a notebook, pen, and a shut laptop. A half-finished mug of coffee sits by the sink, and on one corner of the counter, there’s a pretty ceramic bowl with a couple sets of keys, a wallet, and a few matchbooks inside. It appears to be a space that’s well-loved and used regularly. Hermes feels instantly at home.

Charon points toward the ceiling, then signs, _“Sleeping.”_

Hermes shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over one of the other chairs before going to lean on the island. _“What are you cooking? Spaghetti?”_

Charon nods and stops stirring the pot on the stainless steel stovetop to repeat the sign.

It was one of Hermes’s favorites, and one he’d only recently learned when his ASL class started focusing on food. _“Smells good.”_

_“Thank you.”_ Charon goes back to his stirring, and Hermes bounces in place. 

“Can I help?”

Charon shakes his head.

Hermes raps his fingertips on the counter. “Look, boss, I don’t know how to sign all this yet, so I’m just going to say it, if that’s all right?”

_“Okay.”_ Charon places a lid on the pot, picks up the ashtray, and then indicates Hermes should follow him.

Hermes trails behind him to a cozy living room. There are throw blankets _everywhere_ , and a black cat, familiar from a couple pictures Charon had sent, lies curled on a nest of pillows near the fireplace. Styx lifts his head, blinks golden eyes at Hermes, and promptly deems him uninteresting and goes right back to snoozing.

Welp, judged and found wanting, apparently. Hermes snorts softly as he drops down onto the couch—only to flail when the unexpected softness almost swallows him whole.

Charon gives his faint, huffing laugh and sinks into the leather armchair across from him. _“Brother’s couch,”_ he signs after placing his ashtray on the table beside him. He takes a drag from his cigarette and hikes a fair brow. _“Talk.”_

“I want you to keep the car,” Hermes says, then holds up a hand before Charon tries to interrupt. “Just listen for a minute, okay? Please.”

Charon nods, gesturing for him to continue.

“Look, boss, I realize now it was quite a bit excessive. I won’t buy something that expensive again without getting your approval first, but even if you decide you don’t want anything more with me, I’d like to think we’re friends at this point, right? As such, we’ll call it an early birthday present. Birthday _and_ Christmas, if you like. Just… please don’t ask me to take it back. I don’t…” He sighs and rubs a hand over the shorter hair on his nape. “I don’t think I can bear to sell it off, Charon. It looks like it was made for you. You should have it.”

Charon just stares at him for a few minutes, smoke hazing the air in front of his face when he exhales, the cherry flaring bright again as he draws in another breath.

_“What do you want from me?”_ he asks right when Hermes starts feeling like he’s going to squirm out of his skin.

“I told you already. I want to spoil you. I want to buy you exorbitant gifts, yes, and I want you to accept them. You don’t even have to say thank you. I don’t care. I just want you to take them. Use them. Let me give you what you want.”

Charon rolls his wrist, moving his hand in a “go on” motion.

Hermes wets his mouth. “You asked before if I wanted you to be my sugar baby. The answer is yes. I do want that. I mean… maybe my being younger and you not actually needing the money makes our arrangement a bit unconventional, sure, but if I take care of you, I'd love for you to take care of me, too. In bed.” Hermes laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “I… I’m just going to come right out and say it, boss. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘service top?’”

Charon’s mouth cracks into a smile; his pale eyes crinkle at the corners. He nods.

“So, yeah. That. If you’re into the idea, of course. If you’re not opposed. I love being held down, manhandled a bit. And if later our agreement turns into something else, well… I wouldn’t mind. I'd like it. I like you.”

Charon stubs out his cigarette. _“Let’s eat.”_

Hermes blinks at the lack of answer and abrupt change in subject, but he nods and gamely follows Charon back to the kitchen. Charon didn’t ask him to leave. There’s still hope.

They start serving themselves, and as if summoned by an internal alarm, Charon’s brother Hypnos drifts downstairs, his hair a tangled riot of curls held back by a sleep mask and his eyes still half closed. He has the fluffiest red comforter Hermes has _ever_ seen draped over his shoulders, and he’s wearing fuzzy bunny slippers that slap against the polished hardwood floor. Pink ones.

He sits down, and Charon stands to serve him, plopping a bowl full of spaghetti and a couple of breadsticks in front of him as Hypnos peers blearily at Hermes, finally seeming to register someone else is in the room with them.

“So,” he says around the yawn. “You must be the sugar daddy, huh?”

Charon smacks him on the back of the head with a disapproving grunt.

“What?” Hypnos asks, wide-eyed, as he reaches up to rub the spot. “I mean, wow, he must be expecting a lot if he sent _that_.” He stops rubbing to wave toward the front of the house. “How many blowjobs is that vintage ride worth? A year’s worth at _least_.”

Charon sinks into his chair, features arranged in the sort of long suffering expression any person with a slew of occasionally irritating siblings would recognize.

Hermes chuckles and extends a hand. “I’m Hermes. You’re Hypnos, yes?”

“So my mother called me.” Hypnos places his fingers over Hermes’s like he’s expecting a kiss to the knuckles, not a handshake, and with a shrug, Hermes bows his head and obliges. “Ohhh,” Hypnos says, drawing out the sound, “aren’t you a charmer?”

Hermes grins at him. “I do my best. And I’m not an official sugar daddy yet. Your brother hasn’t said yes.”

“Is that so?” Hypnos sends Charon a sly smirk. “Well, if he doesn’t want you, I’m just saying, I'm available. I take payments in cash, weed, and high thread count sheets.”

Charon reaches over, snatches his bowl of food away, and then points to the doorway of the kitchen.

Hypnos tries to take it back, which leads to a struggle over the bowl that has Hermes alternately doubled over laughing and worried he’s about to get a face full of spaghetti.

Eventually Hypnos wins it back by giving up the tug of war to pout and say, “Well, if my _big brother_ wants me to _starve_ …”

Charon sets the bowl back on Hypnos’s placemat, mouth a wry twist.

The meal gets more chaotic after that. Hermes and Hypnos get on like a house on fire, filling the cozy kitchen with quick, bright chatter, uncovering mutual acquaintances and devolving into juicy gossip as soon as they figure out who among those people they both dislike. Charon occasionally contributes but mainly looks on wearing a fond expression as an hour slips by, then another. By that point, Hypnos starts looking drowsy again, his sentences interrupted by frequent yawns and one end of his comforter precariously close to slipping into the remaining sauce in his bowl.

Charon taps him on the shoulder, and Hypnos stifles another yawn before getting up and pulling his blanket tighter around himself. “All right. It’s nap time for me. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” He turns to Charon. “Just put the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of them later. And you might want to take that car to the garage. I hear we’re getting more snow tonight.”

_“Okay.”_

With a cheery wave, Hypnos drifts from the room as quietly as he’d entered.

“Well, he’s fun,” Hermes says as soon as he’s gone.

Charon smiles a little, eyes shining with amusement. He nods, and then stands and starts collecting plates from the table.

Together, they clear everything up, store the leftovers, and pile the dirty dishes in the sink as Hypnos requested.

They go back to the living room afterward, and Hermes settles onto the cloud-like couch as Charon lights a fresh cigarette.

“So.” Hermes runs jittery hands over the tops of his thighs. Now that they’re alone again, he remembers he _still_ doesn’t have an answer from Charon, and joking aside, he’d really like one. “What do you think?”

Charon takes a drag from his cigarette, blows smoke from the corner of his mouth, and gives Hermes a lazy, assessing look. Finally, when Hermes is literally on the edge of his seat, mere seconds from bolting out the door and running around the block a few times just to calm himself down, Charon signs a word. 

_“Yes.”_

Hermes bounces to his feet. “Yes?”

Charon nods.

“Why?” Hermes asks, before he can think better of it. He’s always been a bit too curious for his own good, maybe, but he wants to know. _Needs_ to.

Charon pulls his phone from his pocket and types for a while, then sets it down and goes back to smoking while Hermes dashes to collect his own phone from his abandoned jacket.

**Charon: You learned to sign for me. You were nice to my brother. You bought me a car.**

Hermes meets Charon’s gaze after he finishes reading the message. “Is that all?”

Charon beckons him closer. Hermes moves to stand in front of him, and Charon grips his waist, tugs him forward until Hermes is straddling his lap. He cups Hermes’s chin and draws him down into a kiss, which Hermes willingly, eagerly accepts.

Charon tastes like cloves and the red wine they had with dinner. He feels natural between Hermes’s thighs, holding Hermes close with a palm at the base of his spine. Charon’s hands are cold, and somehow, Hermes isn’t surprised, but his tongue is hot, and he kisses like a dream. Kisses slow and sweet and _deep_ , until they’re both panting and the cigarette he dropped in the ashtray has burned itself down to a stub.

“Tell me something you like,” Hermes whispers against his mouth, breathless. “Just one thing, boss. Something real.”

Charon pulls back far enough to move his right arm unimpeded. He signs a word, just one, as Hermes asked, but it’s the only answer Hermes wants.

_“You.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated! :D
> 
> Also, thank you to Lines and Terry for the beta read. <3 
> 
> Find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo).


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